


Walking on Stilts at the Edge of Your Mind

by MachaSWicket



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 4x15 related, Angst, F/M, Gen, Season/Series 04, making sense of canon - or at least trying to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 06:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6108331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY:  episode-related ficlet; blame the title on Stephen Amell -- it's from Damien Rice's "The Professor." <b>Spoilers for 4x15.</b> <i>Felicity makes it to the lobby on her own two feet, but just barely.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Walking on Stilts at the Edge of Your Mind

Felicity makes it to the lobby on her own two feet, but just barely.

She has to grip the elevator bars hard, and lean heavily against the wall for a bit. Because she’s standing, she’s _walking_ , yes, but it’s nothing like the easy, instinctual movement it used to be. She hasn’t thought about _how_ to walk, about the mechanics of making all of those muscles and joints move in harmony since she was a toddler, but today she is hyper-focused on staying balanced. Plus, her legs ache and protest, her muscles shaking with effort.

It’s overwhelmingly hard. It’s more difficult and painful than it is amazing, right at this moment.

When the doors slide open, the small, uncomfortable cluster of chairs to the side of the lobby look like they’re a million miles away. _Why_ did she leave her chair behind? _Why_ did she leave it in the one place she can’t possibly make herself return to? And _why_ is the lobby of their building so dauntingly large?

But Felicity is determined. Stubborn, even. There are about a hundred things happening in her life right now that she can’t control. Things that are weighing her down, things that make her eyes sting with tears, things that make her chest ache with regret and sorrow. But this? This she can do. She _will_ do.

Ignoring the doorman’s stunned gaze, Felicity walks so, _so_ carefully over to the chairs, arms just a bit outspread to improve her balance, knees trembling and threatening to give out at any moment. She deeply regrets wearing these adorable heeled boots, because everything feels just _so_ precarious right now, like if she loses focus for even a split second, she will end up on the floor. Thank _God_ she’s not wearing pumps -- stack heels at least give her a chance.

She makes it to the nearest chair. Barely. And tumbles down into the seat with a huff. 

She should be beaming with pride, with happiness. And she feels some of it -- she does. But the weight of _everything_ is too much to allow her joy. Not right now. So Felicity gives herself a moment to recover -- rubbing her thighs to try to ease the ache, ignoring the tears on her face. Then she pulls her phone from her pocket, requesting an Uber before opening her contacts.

She hesitates, because she loves Oliver. She loves him so much that even now, even with her heart cracked into pieces in her chest (again), she aches for him, too. Because he may have made some really bad William-related decisions, but Felicity has never had any doubts that Oliver loves his family unreservedly, unselfishly. He may even be doing the right thing, the safe thing, by stepping out of William’s life, but that doesn’t mean Oliver isn’t broken up over what he’s lost. 

Felicity can’t even let herself think about that little boy, who was taken from his mother and held for days, and whose entire world is turning upside down now, with an abrupt move to parts unknown. Well, not _wholly_ unknown; Felicity has already put certain measures in place. She won’t tell Oliver _where_ they are, if he doesn’t want to know, but she’ll tell him they’re okay. She’ll keep a digital eye on William and Samantha; she’ll make sure they stay safe. 

Oliver’s choices mean that she’s never even met William, but this kind of protection from afar is the absolute least she can do for that scared little boy who, in another lifetime, would’ve been her stepson. Her throat closes up every time she lets herself think about it. When the Hoffmans brought up kids just a few months ago, Felicity had been startled, and completely not ready to even contemplate the idea. Now there’s a hollow kind of regret in her chest, something instinctual insisting that she already loves the idea of William, just for being a part of Oliver; insisting that she would have loved and protected William as her own, if only she’d been given the chance. 

If she feels this bad about losing this little boy whose face she’s only seen in photographs, Felicity knows that Oliver is in crisis.

And if she can’t be there for him -- and she _can’t_ , as much as she wishes she could -- she can’t leave him alone. Not now. Not like this. Not with a heartbroken message to his son on his laptop and her abandoned ring on the table.

So she stares down at her phone, considering her options. Thea might be what he needs right now, but Felicity can’t bring herself to reach out. Not when Thea knew about William. Felicity feels that sting again -- that realization that she’s been kept out of the Queen Family Clubhouse again. She wonders how much of Oliver’s compulsive secret-keeping has to do with the island, and how much is due to growing up with Moira and Robert and all their dirty secrets. She wonders how much she’s supposed to accept before there’s nothing left for her. She wonders how many times she can feel this way and still keep loving him.

Felicity scrolls to Diggle’s name and hits CALL before she realizes she should just text. She’s really not ready to talk about any of this, not yet, but he answers before she can hang up.

“Felicity,” Dig says, his voice so warm and welcoming that her words catch in her throat. When all she manages is a strangled noise, Dig’s tone shifts to crisis mode. “What’s wrong?”

Felicity takes a deep breath in through her nose and tries to reassure him. “I’m okay, but Oliver needs you. He’s at the loft.” She sounds terrible, her voice shaky and waterlogged.

“Felicity?” Dig asks, and she can hear the dawning realization in his voice. “What happened?”

“Samantha and William are gone,” she explains, and she can do this. She will do this. “They decided it’s the safest option, so they’re gone and Oliver is…” She can’t possibly think of a word to describe the deadened look on his face when she’d taken the ring off. It’s worse, somehow, than that horrible goodbye in Nanda Parbat that felt like the end of a possibility between them. 

It’s worse now because they’ve shared so much more than one night together. They’ve shared themselves and their dreams for the future, and that means she’s walking away from everything she _knows_ that she wants. She’s losing much more than a _possibility_.

But she can’t let herself fall headfirst into her heartbreak just yet; not until she knows Dig is on his way. “He needs someone to keep him from going off the rails.”

“Felicity,” Dig answers in that quiet, understanding tone of his, “you know I’m only the second best person for that job.”

He knows. She knows he knows. He’s watched her closely these past few days, offering little comforting touches to her shoulder because he’s seen the way she couldn’t let Oliver near her. He _knows_ what her request means, but she wants to tell him anyway. She wants to tell someone who might have her back, who might support her, because she feels so lonely all of a sudden. She’d grown used to having this little family of hers; she’d grown used to having _Oliver_ , and now that she doesn’t, the loneliness presses against her, threatening to swallow her whole. 

She knows she needs space from Oliver and the ways that he’s hurt her, and if that feels like being alone, she’ll have to come to terms with it. “I can’t be that for him,” she tells Dig. “Not anymore. I need…. space from this. I need time to heal.” She means physically; she means that she needs to work with Paul and focus on herself, on her body, on training her weakened muscles to walk again. But if she’s being honest, she needs to let her heart recover, too. “I-- I gave him the ring--” Her throat closes over whatever else she was going to say.

“Oh, Felicity,” Dig murmurs, “I’m so sorry. What can I do?”

“Oliver needs someone to--”

“Felicity, I’m your friend, too,” he interrupts. “I’m on my way to the loft, but what can I do for _you_?”

She’s crying again, and she’s not sure when she’s going to be able to stop. “I don’t know, John. I don’t know what I need. Because everything hurts. It just... _hurts_.” She curls over, pressing her forehead to her kneecaps. Her legs are aching with fatigue, and the most recent surgical site on her back pulls and protests in this position, and her _heart_ just hurts. “Please come check on him,” she says. “Please, Dig. That’s what you can do for me right now.”

“Okay, Felicity. Where will you be?”

He asks the question so kindly, but it still slices her. She won’t be in her home, with Oliver. She can’t be, but it’s hard, being the one to leave. “I’ll be-- I’m going to Palmer Tech,” she decides. “The penthouse. I’ll-- I’ll be there.” It’s not perfect, but it’ll do. She’ll feel safe there. Lonely, maybe even isolated, but safe. 

Maybe _safe_ is enough for now. Like battlefield medicine -- patch up just enough to get somewhere safe, _then_ worry about fixing things. She definitely _feels_ like she’s limping her way away from a confrontation, held together by tattered bandages and stubborn determination. 

“You’re welcome to stay with Lyla and me, Felicity,” Dig offers. “Sara’s pretty good at making people feel better.”

“I appreciate you so much, John,” she answers slowly. “But I think I just need to…. be by myself for a bit.” And if it feels a little bit like hiding, like running away, then maybe Felicity needs that right now.

“Whatever you need, Felicity,” Dig answers. “Are you at the loft?”

“I’m in the lobby,” she admits. “I-- I’m waiting for my Uber.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” Dig says, “Could you -- I’d really like to give you a hug, Felicity. Wait for me?”

She chokes up again, but manages to agree. When she hangs up, she sees a new text notification, and Oliver’s name. She can’t stop herself from clicking it.

_I’m sorry, Felicity. Truly. I love you._

Dropping the phone to her lap, Felicity presses her damp face into her palms and tries to slow her breathing. Tries to calm down. Her thoughts are a maelstrom, an impossible tornado of anger, hope, hurt, abandonment, longing, resentment, love, and even a little lust thrown in there. She can’t get her bearings, so she sits up and focuses on her legs. Carefully, she begins to move her legs. She rolls her ankles, lifts her lower legs, flexes and releases her muscles.

Everything still aches and burns with fatigue. Everything is still so weak. But she’s _moving_ , and the very sight fills her with awe.

“Felicity,” says Dig from just behind her.

Felicity turns a tearstreaked face and a tentative smile to him. “John, the chip -- it’s... It’s _working_.” With shaking arms, she tucks her phone in her pocket then hoists herself up onto her feet, carefully shifting to face him.

Dig has one hand over his mouth, and he blinks rapidly as he stares at her. Then he gives a quick bark of laughter and moves, engulfing her in one of those huge hugs. “This is amazing, Felicity.”

She nods against his chest, sagging into him, because she is _so_ tired suddenly. She’s _exhausted_ , and the person she wants to comfort her the most is the person who hurt her. Just for a moment, she lets herself go, wraps her arms around Dig’s big frame and cries. Diggle just holds her, rubbing her shoulderblade with one hand and steadily supporting her frame with the other. 

When she sniffles and pulls back, Dig shifts his hold on her to her biceps, keeping her upright and balanced. “Let me bring you to the penthouse.”

Frowning, she protests, “I’m fine. Oliver’s--”

“I’ll come right back here,” Dig interrupts gently. “I’ll pour some whisky down his throat and put him to bed. At least let me drive you there first.”

“I got an Uber,” she says, belatedly looking out front and immediately spotting the dark green Maxima. She straightens up, determined but unsteady on her feet. “I can do this myself, John.”

She can tell he wants to argue with her, just from the look on his face. But Dig just shifts, moving to her side and wrapping a supportive arm around her waist. “You and Lyla,” he teases, “stubborn as hell.”

It actually gets a rusty laugh out of her. “Good company,” she observes. He takes a small step, matching his stride to her _much_ more halting gait. And she leans into him, letting him assist her to the waiting Uber. It’s taking a lot of energy and focus to stay upright on protesting legs; when she collapses into the seat and pulls her shaking legs into the car, she sighs with relief. Then she meets Dig’s gaze. “Thank you.”

“Felicity, listen,” Dig says, crouching down, one hand on the open car door. “I know you want to be alone and cry and scream and probably eat a lot of ice cream. I promise I won’t intrude. But I would like very much to check in on you later.”

Felicity glances over his shoulder at her building -- her _former_ building. She can’t let herself think about Oliver sitting in their home, alone and upset. She can't let herself think about her disappointment and her own broken heart, not until she’s alone and able to do all the crying and screaming. But she there is one thing Dig can do for her. “Could you-- I left my chair,” Felicity explains, tilting her head towards the building, “but I think… I might need it around.” Her voice drops to a whisper, “My legs are _really_ tired.”

He reaches over, squeezing her knee gently. “You got it. I’ll text when I’m on my way.” His expression sobers, and his voice is gentle when he adds, “I really am sorry, Felicity.”

She blinks back tears. “Me, too.”

Dig leans closer and kisses her cheek, then stands. “Hey, man,” Dig says to the driver. “Make sure she gets inside safe.”

“John,” Felicity says, “I’ll be fine. I promise.” It feels like a lie, but Felicity knows she’ll manage. Pain and loneliness aren’t strangers to her; she just needs to remember how to live with their companionship instead of Oliver’s.

The drive to Palmer Tech doesn’t take very long, which means her legs don’t get much of a break. But she stubbornly waves off the driver’s assistance, pushing herself to her feet. Because she’s been her own support system before. She knows how to do this.

And so she walks -- carefully, _carefully_ \-- into her new home. Unassisted.

END


End file.
